


A House Divided

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Gen, Ostwick (Dragon Age), Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: The young Verana-Kathryn Trevelyan has discovered she possesses magic, and thus she is to be taken from her family’s estate to the Ostwick Circle at a mere seven years of age. Can her older brother, who has been away at Templar training in Markham, make it home to see her in time?And will her departure change the face of the Trevelyan family forever?
Series: Herald of Change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	A House Divided

_Ostwick, the Free Marches; 9:21 Dragon_

Donovan Trevelyan’s pony puffed and trembled with exhaustion as he slid from its back, but the young man paid it no heed; only one thing mattered right now, and that was reaching his sister before anyone else did. Clad in a scarlet linen tunic emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy in golden thread, the black-haired lad dashed through the rainy afternoon streets of Ostwick, splashing through puddles without a care and thoroughly soaking his doeskin boots. Mud splattered up onto his leather breeches, the hood of his woolen cloak flying back as he ran and allowing the rain to plaster his bangs to his forehead. Yet despite the damp creeping through the soles and the icy droplets stinging his face, he charged on, sprinting as though a demon were on his heels, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

The estate gates were open but guarded. The old grizzled veteran stationed there recognized him, however, and let him pass without a word, knowing from Lady Trevelyan that her youngest son would be arriving any day now.

He burst through the front doors, immediately unclasping his cloak and dropping it to the floor, hopping up and down as he then quickly removed his soiled boots to prevent the wrath of his parents. Never for a moment was he still, however, and when he saw his mother moving towards him from the parlor, his only words were “Where is she?”

Knowing the reason for his haste, though slightly hurt at his lack of attention, Lady Trevelyan gave him a calm look and replied in her typically gentle and poised manner, “Upstairs, my son.”

Immediately, he dashed for the manor’s staircase, footfalls muffled by the thick crimson runner that carpeted the steps from top to bottom. Donovan sensed where his sister would be – the spacious expanse of their father’s study where they often played as younger children – and it was this room to which he headed. He was heedless of the soft padding of his mother’s slippered feet behind him while she wordlessly followed.

He finally saw her sitting with her legs tucked under her, wearing a plain blue dress that puddled about her on the floor. She was perched before their father’s blazing hearth in the middle of the study’s plush rug. The room was empty, save for her, her back to the door. Her long black hair, identical to their mother’s, spilled to her waist in meticulously-brushed waves, and was the one feature she shared with him. Unmoving, she stared vacantly into the flames of the hearth, unaware that her brother had just arrived from Markham and trying desperately to forget the knowledge that this home would not be hers for much longer.

“Verana?”

Donovan’s voice cracked as he spoke her name, and though he had just turned thirteen years of age, it was not from adolescence.

She turned suddenly, twisting backwards and glancing over her shoulder at him with sad purple eyes that were like glittering gems adorning her pale face. They were ocean-deep, like their father’s stern sapphire gaze, but tinged with an exotic violet – likely by the Fade, now that they knew magic ran in her veins. Illuminated by the warm fire, they emanated a glowing melancholy at him, even as they widened in surprise and met his hazel stare: a mirror of their mother’s.

“Donovan?”

He rushed forward and slid onto his knees before her at her question, embracing his littlest sister tightly in a grip already strengthened by his Templar training. The seven-year-old girl, petite in stature, was almost dwarfed by her older brother, her small arms wrapping about him with as much strength as she could muster. All the while, Lady Trevelyan stood quietly outside the door, unwilling to intrude on this brief reunion, but well within earshot.

“They’re going to take me away,” his sister’s soft voice was muffled against his tunic. “Just like they did Dawn.”

“I know,” he answered solemnly. “I had to come back. I had to see you before they got here.”

She pushed off of him and glanced down at her palms, and after a moment of frowning, a spark danced between her fingers, illuminating both their faces for but a second in brilliant lavender before vanishing as though it had never existed. Looking up at him, her gaze even sadder, she asked simply, “Why, Donny? Why me, too?”

Donovan went quiet at that, unable to form an answer quickly, but then replied stoically, “Maybe the Maker made it so.”

Verana looked down again. “Father says it’s a curse. Did the Maker curse Dawn? Did the Maker curse me? Why?”

“Some people call it a curse. But some people call it a gift, too,” Donovan reassured, recalling similar talk amongst his fellows in Markham.

Verana’s brow furrowed quizzically. “But if it’s a gift, then why do me and Dawn have to go away?”

Donovan sighed heavily. “Because it’s dangerous. Some people think it’s bad, because it can hurt people if you aren’t careful. People are scared of it, too,” he tried to explain it as best as he understood it, and as best as he could to one so young. “So you have to go where you can practice and be safe while you do it. And so you don’t hurt anyone by accident.”

She met his eyes, then. “I’m scared, Donny. I’m scared of it. I’m scared of leaving. I don’t want to go…”

Once more, he hugged her tightly to him. “I know, sis. But you have to. It’s the only way.” He held her at length and gave her his best encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll make friends at the Circle. There’s going to be nice people there. And you’ll be tutored by the city’s best mages. You’ll be able to learn so much… all the books you can read and then some! You’ll be just like them, a powerful mage someday!”

His smile finally pulled a small one from her in response. But then, heavy booted feet could be heard coming up the stairwell, and a flash of concern swept across Donovan’s face…

“Oh, no.” Verana’s voice trembled as she glanced at the door. “They’re here…”

At that moment, a deep voice could be heard asking, “Where is the girl, my lady?”

“Just in there,” came their mother’s, passive in response.

There was a rattle of metal, and two Templars came into view, one male and one female. The taller male still wore his helmet, but the female’s countenance was bare, her carrot-orange hair plaited into a tight bun at the base of her neck. At the sight of the siblings, the two warriors very obviously paused, as if to gauge the situation. Then, nodding to his comrade, the helmed Templar made a beeline for Donovan, clapping his heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder and turning him away even as the woman made for Verana.

“A recruit, are you, lad?” he asked Donovan with a cheerful tone, armor glimmering with a mirror-like sheen in the firelight. “Where are you training?”

“Markham, Ser,” Donovan replied quietly, glancing back over his shoulder at the woman approaching his sister.

“I see,” the Templar mused aloud as he slowly walked Donovan out of the room and into the hall, passing Lady Trevelyan as they went. “And you came all this way by yourself to see your sister?”

“Yes,” Donovan replied simply.

He then felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “I understand. My brother is a mage, too.”

Meanwhile, the female Templar squatted in front of Verana, who was frozen with fear. The woman, whose pie-shaped countenance was spattered with freckles, gave her a lopsided smile. It was strangely warm and friendly, and her pale green eyes sparkled in the firelight as she spoke gently. “We’re here to take you to the Circle, young miss.”

Verana nodded, suddenly feeling oddly conflicted about this Templar before her.

“Have you your things packed?”

She nodded again.

“In your room, I take it?”

Verana gave a third nod.

“All right then, you’ll have to show me so I can carry it to the carriage for you.”

Verana slowly stood, brushed off her skirt, and headed out into the hall, stealing a quick glance to where the other Templar was walking with her brother down the stairs…

It wasn’t long before Donovan saw Verana descending the stairwell behind the female Templar, who carried the girl’s small trunk in her hands. The look the woman cast her fellow spoke of relief that things were going as well as they were, and she gave Donovan a beaming smile as she passed by him, the butler opening the door as she approached. Lady Trevelyan followed Verana down the stairs like a silent wraith, clinging to the banister as she watched the scene before her. Verana paused beside Donovan, looking up at him for what she was sure would be the last time.

It was at that moment that he strode forward and took her in his arms once more, reassuring her with words that she would remember far longer than he expected her to:

“I love you, sis. Always will. I’ll always be your big brother. And if you ever need me, I’ll be there… just like that. No matter what.”

The tall Templar might as well have been an ornamental suit of armor, so still was he as he observed this parting. At last however, when they had hugged each other until they could hold one another no more, Donovan stepped back, silent tears streaming down his face, just as they did his sister’s. It was only then that the Templar eased himself between them, encouraging Verana to move through the doorway and into the rainy world beyond by becoming a physical barrier between her and the interior of the manor. He paused only once after, looking back towards Donovan, the shadows of his helm hiding his gaze.

“Maker walk with you, lad.”

Donovan’s face was solemn. “Maker walk with my sister.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Roland Trevelyan returned home that evening to find one member of the household gone and one returned to replace her, albeit temporarily. He tried to hide his distaste as he and his younger sister, Jocelyn, followed their father into the manor and was immediately greeted by the Templar-to-be. Donovan, two years younger than Roland, had been promised to the Chantry as soon as Roland was deemed healthy enough to be pronounced heir. As such, Jocelyn, the third eldest sibling, was the next in line following him. It was because of this issue of heirdom that their father had taken them to the council meeting that day, in an attempt to smooth ruffled feathers amongst their fellow nobles. Their parents had taken a great deal of time to negotiate arranged marriages amongst the other prominent families of Ostwick; this careful planning, however, had been dashed when first Dawn, and then Verana-Kathryn, was discovered to possess magical talents. All betrothals had been immediately called off for fear that future sons or daughters of Roland and Jocelyn would become mages, too.

Lady Trevelyan had been told to stay home to see off Verana to the Circle, and once the second mage of the family was gone, Roland hoped things would return to some semblance of normal. Dawn and Verana were blots on the family name and endangered his future sway over the other nobles of the city. This the fifteen-year-old was sure of, and he liked it not.

“Ah! Donovan!” their father boomed, clapping both hands on his second son’s shoulders. “Wonderful for you to come home to see us!”

Roland watched as Donovan looked up at their father, whose bold-featured, freckled countenance beamed down at him in return. Donovan’s face was unreadable, and he replied flatly, “I came home to see Verana, father.”

The Bann Trevelyan’s lopsided grin vanished back into his grizzled auburn beard, his dark sapphire eyes hardening at Donovan’s response. Roland’s brow rose as he looked sternly at his brother, his own face already a spitting image of his father’s, though his thick crop of hair was browner than the Bann’s. He wondered if their father would rebuke Donovan for such a reply, and some part of him secretly hoped that he would. No doubt his brother thought himself holier than the rest, now that he had begun his training as a Templar.

When the Bann pushed wordlessly past Donovan to greet his wife, Roland sneered at his brother, “Worried about her, were you?” Not waiting for a response, he added with head lifted, “I don’t see why. ‘For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.’”

At Donovan’s sharp hazel glare and balled fist, Roland merely chuckled. The prat could do nothing to him… not with their father present. They both knew it.

Jocelyn stepped closer to the brothers, her features a softened version of Roland’s and mirroring the eldest sibling’s sneer as she added, “The only reason he knows that line is because he heard Sister Griselda reciting it while he was trying to get a better look at her bum.”

Two pairs of sapphire eyes stared back at one another for an uncomfortably long time before Lady Trevelyan called all three children into the dining hall for supper. They obeyed, but only because they feared the consequences from their father if they didn’t. If it were up to each of them, they would all be living in separate households already; Donovan was all too eager for the morrow to come, when he would begin the long journey back to Markham alone. He was beginning to think of his being given to the Chantry as more of a blessing than even his parents knew…

It was halfway through the meal before anyone spoke, and it was Lady Trevelyan who broke the silence once more, her voice a soft question, “Did you enjoy your time at the Council, today?”

“Yes, mother.”

“No.”

The contradicting replies came simultaneously, the first from Roland and the second from Jocelyn. Both parents looked at the children with brows raised, their mother’s expression one of surprise, whilst her husband’s was more one of annoyance.

“Jocelyn doesn’t like upholding her duties,” Roland supplied casually.

His sister glared at him from across the table. “I don’t like being paraded around like a prize horse.”

“Jocelyn!” Lady Trevelyan reprimanded gently, sparing a glance towards her husband, who had set down his utensils and leaned back in his chair to observe his daughter’s responses. Leaning forward to pat Jocelyn’s hand reassuringly, Lady Trevelyan smiled, “No one is going to know about you if you hide behind closed doors all day.”

Jocelyn looked utterly baffled. “Mother, why would I want any of those dim-witted simpletons to know about me?”

Roland snorted, “So you think you’re better than everyone else, then? Privileged enough you don’t have to do what everyone else has to do?”

“ _Roland_ ,” their father warned before turning to Jocelyn. “My dear, you must know that your mother and I are trying to secure a future for you. You must see and be seen in order to find proper suitors.”

“I don’t want suitors,” Jocelyn said flatly, sipping at her wine as if she weren’t arguing with her parents, but commoners.

“Too late,” Roland replied, “Ser Morelet and Lord Seigwar’s sons were eyeing you a lot today. They’ll probably talk to father tomorrow.”

“Funny you noticed,” Jocelyn sneered. “I would’ve thought you were too busy ogling Lady Annarah’s-”

“ _Jocelyn_!” both Lord and Lady Trevelyan exclaimed together.

Before they could add anything else, however, Jocelyn slammed her fist on the table, “It’s true! She’s a married woman, and Griselda’s a Chantry-devoted sister, and Roland keeps-”

“That has nothing to do with-”

“-and you act as though my wanting no part-”

“-that’s not-”

“-but he gets to do what he likes while I have to be sold to the highest bid-”

“ _Enough_!” Lord Trevelyan boomed, a heavy silence following. Lady Trevelyan looked down at her lap while her husband took a few breaths to calm himself before continuing, “Jocelyn Trevelyan. You either are too dense or refuse to realize your place as a member of this household. Your Maker-cursed sisters nearly jeopardized our standing in Ostwick, and since Donovan is a promised servant of Andraste, you and Roland are our only hope for the continuation of our family line! Maker preserve us if something were to happen to him, because all you are concerned with is your own selfish satisfaction!”

The heavy silence returned, and in the midst of it, Roland gave his sister a satisfied smirk, even as her own gaze filled with hot tears of emotion that she fought to keep bottled within.

Donovan, who had kept his peace throughout this increasingly-heated exchange despite the angry set of his jaw, fixed his gaze on the hearth, above which was mounted the Trevelyan coat of arms. The family motto was inscribed below the shield: _Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed_. If anyone was modest in temper amongst the siblings, it was Verana. Perhaps she would grow to be bold in deed as well. One thing was certain – she seemed to herald change… for good or for ill.

Without knowing exactly what drove him, he stood abruptly without excusing himself, striding past the elven serving woman who obediently waited by the doors to the dining room.

“Donovan, where are you going?” his father demanded.

“Back to Markham.”

He couldn’t stand it here. Not even for one night. He would negotiate with the stablemaster – trade his steed for a fresh one. There was an inn partway to Markham that was fairly cheap – he had a stipend from his trainer that would be sufficient for a half-night’s stay. It would be a rat-infested hole, no doubt, but anywhere was better than this gilded cage. Even the Circle.

As he retrieved his still-packed belongings from the bed in his room, he did not even say goodbye, the only thing he could focus upon being a line from the Chant he had heard before he departed the Circle tower:

“ _Heav'n filled with silence, then did I know all_

_And cross'd my heart with unbearable shame.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reposting of what was a multi-chaptered longfic as a series of oneshots.


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